


gone but not forgotten

by Arkie



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, I haven't got an excuse for this, Themes of Death and Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 10:25:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19271350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arkie/pseuds/Arkie
Summary: When Smith died, Trott's world ended.-Trott-centric demonic shit.





	gone but not forgotten

When Smith died, Trott's world ended. 

Maybe it was partly because Smith didn't really leave - he hung around, on the edges of Trott's vision, waiting, not looking, looking when he wasn't looking. 

Ross tried to reach out, tried to support him while falling apart himself. Trott wasn't sure if he loved or detested him for it. There wasn't anything he could do, besides. 

Because they live in a world of demons and angels. Isn't it wonderful?

(Mostly demons, though.)

Things that shouldn't be possible suddenly were. New shapes, new urges, new inklings. Nothing was as it should be. 

So Trott tried to convince everyone - the world, his friends, the police - that he was fine. His world had fallen apart, but he was  _fine_. More than he ever had been. How many can say the same? 

So blood sometimes pours from his taps. So the sky occasionally flickers. So his dreams are filled with bent bones and sliced lips. 

It was everyone else he was worried for. No one was sure of what was going on. Everyone had flashes of terrors, just like him. It scared them. They ran amok wielding weapons and shooting accusations like bullets. No one felt safe. 

All he _wanted_ was to feel  _safe_. 

Homeless, friendless. He wasn't sure where he slept. He wasn't sure _if_ he slept. 

And Smith lingered. Looking straight at him, into his soul, blank and full of questioning, until Trott turned to him, and he'd vanish. Like a coward. Trott didn't know he more desperately wanted to grab a hold of him, make him stay, make him make him feel safe again - or if he just wanted him to leave him alone. 

Days blurred, had done for a long while. Time didn't mean much anymore. He hardly remembered the pavements he walked on, the faces he saw, the words he spoke. He couldn't remember the last time he saw the inside of a wall. All that existed was the air, the roughness of his throat, the cold that seeped so deep it couldn't touch him. 

At some point, a stranger ran up to him. A familiar stranger. Buffeted by the blowing wind. Whoever it was, they grabbed ahold of him, words flying out of a mouth opening and closing, directed at him and then the slim black box held up to their ear. Brows creased, worried. 

He didn't bother pulling away, settled for watching them awhile. Those stupid lips. There was nothing they could do for him. Couldn't they see he just wanted to be left alone? 

He was pulled along a while then, a vibrating seat while streets raced by a window. A few scared faces passed by. He wondered if he'd be able to touch them, if he reached out. He tried, and his fingers encountered a window. He supposed not. 

Then he was inside. A few people passed. A few people spoke to him. He didn't bother translating their words. Meaningless gibberish. 

Everything went quiet and still for a while. He stared down at a cushion on the floor. It was green. 

Smith was staring at him, from the corner of Trott's eye. A rush of fury filled him, and he grabbed the nearest thing and threw it at him as hard as he could. It was a lamp, and its cord yanked from its socket and it went dark. Smith disappeared before he even finished the throw. 

He didn't remember how he got out - it may have had something to do with a window, judging from the shards in his leg, the blood running from them. He didn't feel it, not really. But he liked the sharpness. 

He found his way to a home. He ignored the rare eyes that followed him. Streets empty. Picked up the spare key from a plant pot, and crashed inside. 

The place was a wreck. Police tape everywhere. No police, though. They probably gave up a while ago. 

He knew every sofa crease, knew every scratch on the floor, each abandoned cup on the counter. He saw the lidless pet tanks. Empty and dark, like the rest of the place. He wondered, dimly, what had happened to the lizards. They were long gone. 

He looked around, but didn't see Smith. Funny. He followed him everywhere but here. 

He wasn't alone for long though.

"Trott?" His name was said like a prayer. 

He turned. Didn't quite register who was stood in the doorway. 

His lips moved, regardless. "Ross?" 

He didn't have time to think more before he was engulfed in a hug. 

His arms remained limp at his sides. Unresisting, unreciprocating. Ross didn't seem to mind. 

"Trott," Ross gasped. "Trott, you're okay. Thank god you're okay." He tucked his head into Trott's shoulder. 

Ross was shuddering. Trott just felt vaguely lost. Frowning slightly. 

"It's gunna be okay, Trott." Ross pulled back and tried to wipe his eyes before Trott could see. He kept one hand on Trott's shoulder. Firmly anchoring, as though expecting him to turn to mist beneath his fingers. "You've got to come home, though, Trott. _Please_. I know the police are being bastards, but--" His eyes pressed on Trott's, impressing upon him his sincerity, his relief. A hollowness, too. Times hadn't been easy on him either. "I'm going to help you. So is everyone else." 

"Police?" Trott echoed, vaguely. Pinpointing thoughts in time was _hard_. He hadn't had to focus this hard in a long time. 

Ross frowned. "Yeah, Trott. But it's ok. We'll figure out something - an alibi, a witness, _something_." He glanced about the home. His eyes went to spots of blood on the floor, then jumped away. He shook his head. "Smith wouldn't want you to get locked up on top of everything else." 

But Trott was still trying to gather himself. The words confused him. "Wouldn't he?" 

Ross stared into his eyes, holding him still, searching, maybe more confused than he was. "No, Trott. Of course not. You two were close since you were kids. I don't know how they can even think..." He shook his head, pained. His eyes fell away, to somewhere far away. His thumbs stroked patterns into Trott's shoulders. He probably wasn't aware he was doing it. "It all this mess. All this... fucking... angels n' demons shit, it's making everyone go crazy. Turning on each other. No one _trusts_ anyone anymore." 

Trott watched his lips, his face, enamoured, enraptured. He found a little bit of presence in them. A little _nowness_. It was beautiful. 

Ross gripped his shoulders harder, eyes locked back on him. "I know you're hurting. But you have to _trust_ me, Trott." 

There was such emotion in his voice. Such sincerity in his blue eyes. 

Trott hadn't seen a lot of that since his world had fallen apart. He kept his eyes on them as he spoke, voice hushed. 

"How does it feel," he breathed, so, _so_ curious. He watched those sincere blue eyes widen in surprise at his next few words. Then fear. It was so beautiful. "To be human?" 

Trott's world ended, when he killed Smith. 

**Author's Note:**

> I... have no excuse for this. I was sat down, all prepared to write more Urban Magic Yogs... and then this happened. Just... take the demonic shit. Just take it.
> 
> All's up to interpretation, as usual, but hit me up for a tl;dr in the comments if it's too vague and you're dying to know.


End file.
